Redemptio Opus Chapter 29

The Golem-Foundry was busier than ever, filled with the frantic labours of the Disciples of Ruin as they worked over their surgical tables. The noise of saws was mixed with the horrifying scent of bodily fluids as human beings were dismantled and fused back together in nightmarish ways. Many Flesh-Golems were being newly created but just as many were being upgraded, adding mass and armour to their frames, while their weapons were stripped out and replaced with more fitting armaments.

From one end of the chamber streamed long lines of captured prisoners, those souls who had survived the last offensive of the Fraters. They screamed in horror at what awaited them but were dragged forward by black-robed figures, who threw them into the abattoir. Some tried to fight back but their efforts were in vain, they were overpowered and forced to submit regardless, many of them weeping and praying as the scalpels and saws of the Heretics descended on them.

Christof however had other concerns; he and his comrades were within Ferro Corde's inner sanctum, facing off against the Arch-Magos. Around them the work continued on his statuesque project, half-metal men crawling over the giant artefacts with fusion torches sparking and micro-tools blurring as chattering burst of scrapcode passed between them. The noise was impressive, mixed as it was with constant screaming, but Christof put that from his mind as he looked up at the irate Magos.

Ferro Corde loomed over the trio of Fallen as he barked, "Failure! I entrusted you with my armies and you bring me failure!"

Christof wasn't moved by the outburst as he replied, "The loss of the Desalination plant was unfortunate, but not a total failure."

Ferro Corde reared up on his arachnid legs as he snarled, "The loss of that plant has crippled us! We depended on it to support our armies; no machine can endure long without the proper lubrication."

Beside Christof his comrade Rauf snorted, "Maybe you shouldn't have put it all in one place then."

Ferro Corde lowered his bulk until his head was nearly level with the trio and hissed, "Your worth is not so great that I won't kill you."

Rauf put a hand on the stock of his bolter and growled, "Try it, I dare you. I've faced far worse than you and emerged victorious."

Christof rolled his eyes at the exchange of threats and said, "Can we dispense with the petty bickering and get back to the situation at hand, we still need to prepare for the next phase."

"Next phase?" Gwayne started in surprise, "What next phase?"

Christof drew in a breath and elaborated, "Consider the wider situation. Losing the desalination plant was a blow but a minor one. Strategically little has changed; we still hold the advantage in position, firepower and ferocity."

Ferro Corde growled, "Not for long, our stockpiles of potable water are limited. Replacing the facility will take precious time, longer than our supplies will last. Our armies will start to degrade in performance soon, then our strength will diminish exponentially. Our slaves will die first, then the Flesh-Golems and finally we Disciples. I calculate we can extend that time if we start drinking the blood of the slaves but that will not change the final outcome of this war. My calculations predict that the only viable option is to launch an all-out offensive and try to win this war in one push."

Christof disagreed with that assessment and argued, "That would be a mistake, leaving the summit of the spire means abandoning the advantages of prepared positions. A single forlorn charge, into the face of insurmountable numbers, is what I've been avoiding since this war started."

"What alternative do you suggest?" Ferro Corde hissed angrily, "Waiting behind our defences until our armies start dropping dead of dehydration?"

Christof shook his head and said, "It won't come to that, the Imperials won't wait that long."

"Explain," Ferro Corde barked impatiently.

Patiently Christof elaborated, "I anticipated the Space Marine's attack on the facility, the assault was taken straight from their pedantic Codex. True our forces proved less effective against them than I had hoped, but the principle was sound. The Imperials, for all their zeal, are predictable because they follow tactical doctrine that is ten thousand years out of date. We can deduce their next moves and move to counter them. They will be expecting us to throw everything we have at them, but if we don't they can only conclude that we are greatly weakened. They won't be able to resist the urge to finish us off; their Codex is very tiresome about the importance of retaining the initiative. I tell you they will throw everything they have at us and this war will be decided one way or another long before the issue of water supplies becomes drastic."

Ferro Corde sounded suspicious as he muttered, "Your argument is based on supposition and untested hypothesis."

Christof countered, "I call it experience, I faced one of their number in combat, a Chaplain. It was refreshing to fight a challenging opponent; I've grown bored fighting mortals. I took his measure and he was bold, harsh and zealous, a Marine like that won't be content to still back and wait us out, he will be aching to face me again. I tell you these Imperials only know one way to behave; they will come at us for one final confrontation, winner takes all."

Ferro Corde sank back and whirred to himself as cogitators in his head ran computations, then he uttered, "Assuming your argument is valid a definitive battle is indeed inevitable. We need to prepare for their assault."

Then Rauf spoke up, "You need to improve your Flesh-Golems, they still aren't a match for Space Marines."

Gwayne added, "Could we outfit them with Plasma weaponry?"

Ferro Corde waved a metal hand as a negative and stated, "Plasma technology requires rare elements and superior expertise to implement. We have neither the time nor the resources to mass-produce such weapons. However, melta-guns and thermic knives are easier to produce; I can refit the Flesh-Golems with such armaments relatively easily."

"That should hamper the Space Marines at least," Gwayne muttered, "But it won't be enough to turn the tide against the sheer numbers the Imperials enjoy."

Ferro Corde sounded thoughtful as he mused, "If we cannot out-produce the Imperials then we must make our existing units more effective. Come with me."

Christof watched in surprise as the Magos turned and scuttled away, moving rapidly to the far end of the sanctum. Curious, the trio followed him to a shadowed alcove, where two gurneys were laid out. Upon each of them was a human body, face down and partially dissected. One was missing a head while the other was truncated below the waist and Christof recognised them to be the tongueless assassins he had defeated, not so far from this spot.

Christof looked over them with mild interest and said, "What is the point of this?"

Ferro Corde skittered around the bodies and in one of his characteristic mood swings babbled excitedly, "I collected the remains of these assassins and examined them in detail. The autopsy revealed most interesting things, most interesting indeed. These two have been modified by atypical technology, a variant of Augmetics I have never seen before. Such technology does not conform to any known STC pattern; this is a facet of machine lore unknown to those blinkered fools on Mars. I struggle to understand how these beings could have received such singular implants."

Rauf sniffed, "Probably the handiwork of the Inquisition. I've tussled with them a few times and they have all kinds of interesting toys. Things they shouldn't have; things nobody should have."

Gwayne didn't sound impressed as he said, "Odd as it is that doesn't help us, their Augmetics were no match for us."

Yet Ferro Corde twittered, "Physically no, but I refer not their hardware upgrades but to their Binaric software processes."

Christof was confused now and said, "We are not Tech-priests; explain this to us in terms we can understand."

Ferro Corde leaned over the corpses and dipped a metal hand into the spinal column of the one missing a lower half. He came up with a glittering web of fine elements wrapped around his fingers, a delicate lattice of shimmering strings. They were no thicker than a human hair but in those strands were nestled tiny flecks of some strange material, unlike anything Christof had seen before. Ferro Corde held it up to the light and explained, "Most augmetics tie into the organic nervous system, mimicking biological processes, it is how most subjects learn to use their new limbs so easily. But this is totally different, a neural net that supersedes the nervous system entirely, replacing it with something far faster and more precise. "

Rauf frowned as he asked, "How is this possible?"

Ferro Corde gestured at the flecks caught in the web and said, "These are sentient processors, a self-aware matrix, capable of abstract reasoning."

"An abominable intelligence?!" Christof started as his hand went to his sword's hilt. He had good reason to be wary; the menace of machine minds was a threat that predated the Imperium. Even during the Great Crusade, when the Imperium was at its zenith, the danger of thinking machines was deemed so great that it would provoke the most choleric of responses. Expeditionary fleets had razed whole planets to the bedrock rather than abide a single machine mind to exist.

Yet Ferro Corde seemed amused as he stated, "Only fragments of one, tiny processors shorn from a greater cogitator. The complete unit must have been magnificent to behold once, but even these fragments are totally illegal. Being caught owning these would see one branded a Heretek on Mars."

Christof didn't let go of his sword as he asked, "How does that help us?"

Ferro Corde's metal face glinted as if amused as he said, "It is the key to finishing your little side-project."

Christof's attention was caught by that and he inquired, "You can replicate these things and use them to upgrade the intelligence of the Flesh-Golems?"

"Somewhat," Ferro Corde articulated, "They will always be savage things, but with these I can make them obey orders."

Christof went quiet as he pondered the implications, the nightmarish creations of the Disciples of Ruin being married to his tactical insight. The Flesh-Golems were feral savages, individually powerful but incapable of working together according to a larger plan. Ambushes, feints, mutually supporting combat units, he could think of a thousand ways he could use such a force to best effect, improving their performance in the field. Should he be able to control the Flesh-Golems directly then their effectiveness would increase exponentially.

Christof looked again at the glittering web in the Magos' hands and said, "So in an attempt to kill you the Inquisition has handed us the key to victory, how ironic. But how long will it take you to replicate these devices?"

"I already have," Ferro Corde chuckled as he waved his hand back into the sanctum and let loose a burst of Binaric screeching.

The masses of Disciples were sent scurrying as the twin statues roared and their forms shuddered. From within their metal and flesh hides emerged a terrible shrieking wail, as if they were in agony, but that was drowned out by a bestial roar of hate and anger. Suddenly there was the grinding rasp of motors engaging and the statutes tore themselves away from the walls with great lumbering steps. Each of them was ten metres tall, walking on a pair of bipedal legs as thick as a grown man. Their backs were hunched over, as if stooping and crested by a missile pod and two twin smoke-stacks that shimmered with heat discharge. From their shoulders hung huge armaments, one arm being a ponderous Black-lightning gun and the other a tri-part claw that hinged inwards and crackled with deadly disruption fields. Their bodies were made of metal rods and pistons but around those were woven fleshy tendrils, that curled and twitched as if alive. Positioned around their frames were a collection of vox-hailers, that projected an ear-splitting screech of pain, born from the torment of the pilots that inhabited these leviathans. All of this was covered over by broad ceramite plates, bulked out to protect vital joints. They were scored and defiled by the icons of Chaos, but underneath that were the last traces of the colours of House Hawkshroud, declaring that these Flesh-Golems had once been proud Imperial Knight walkers.

Ferro Corde reared up and spread his arms wide as he proclaimed, "Behold my greatest creations: the Sorrow-Shriekers! Now bound to my will and ready for war!"

Christof looked up at the defiled Knights and the slightest grin tugged at his lip, with firepower like this at his command the Imperials wouldn't stand a chance. He already knew how he would deploy them and was sure that the blinkered Imperial Space Marines would never see them coming. Soon he would win this war and claim his payment, then he would finally be free of his hunters once and for all.